Insanity at its Finest
by ScarredIncisions
Summary: Insanity. That's all there is to it. Twisted-ness. Infinite. Boundless. Endless.


**A/N: So I know I should be writing Savior, but I'm only 325 words in and got this sudden burst of inspiration for this story. Only a one-shot people, so it won't take up too much of my time and I'll be back to chapter 8 of Savior! Anyways, this fic doesn't really make any sense to anyone but me, I'm well aware, but I wrote it like this on purpose. This literally is no where near Percy Jackson related, but you know what? I needed some category to put this story under, and I imagined some Percy Jackson characters in the positions of these anonymous people.**

He laughs into the empty air, right into the surveillance camera that the staff claimed to be 'hidden'. Is there a joke, though?

No, no there isn't. And somehow, that makes him laugh even more than he already is. Bursts of crazy, cynical, hysterical laughter.

No, he's cackling.

And like on all of the television shows he's ever seen in his entire life (well, of course, before he ended up _here_ ), he makes a 'whoo' sound and sighs, winding down from the laughter. Then he tugs on the sleeve of the straight-jacket, but honestly? He never expected anything to happen.

Nothing does.

Nothing ever does.

—

What once piece of advice would you offer to a newborn infant? How does one answer such a question as that?

She knows that maybe one of the first things she'd do is say something real smart-like, maybe, "hey, kid. The world is a terrible and evil place. Before you actually decide to stay and go through all of the crap everyone else has to go through, think of it like this. You're in the nursery with that beep thing on your chest. Rip it out. Hell isn't as hot as it is here."

Or maybe she'd march right back into the delivery room, and as the head of the child comes out of his or her mother's womb, she yells directly into his ear: "TURN THE HELL AROUND, THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU WANT!"

Or to be truthful, she'd be a smart-ass and mutter a simple "good luck" under her breath.

Perhaps she'll be dead before she has the opportunity to tell a newborn anything.

—

 _Tick. Tock._

There goes the clock.

 _The clock strikes one._

There goes your blood.

 _The clock strikes two._

What do you do?

 _The clock strikes three._

What can't you see?

 _The clock strikes four._

Latch the door.

 _The clock strikes five._

(Time's running out. There is no rhyme.)

 _The clock strikes six._

Bones that break like sticks.

 _The clock strikes seven._

Is there really a Heaven?

 _The clock strikes eight._

(Really now, we might only make it to ten.)

 _The clock strikes nine._

Pretty soon we'll all be fine.

 _The clock strikes ten._

Shall we start over again?

 _Oh look, we made it to eleven._

Again, I wonder. Is there a Heaven?

 _The clock strikes twelve._

(No rhyme. Just bloodshed. Full out bloodshed.)

 _Tick. Tock._

 _Tick. Tock._

—

Infinity is the concept of something that is unlimited, endless, without bound. Endlessness. Boundlessness. Infinity is always tricky.

Or maybe it's the fact that infinity is not _actual_ , but _potential_.

Well, of course it can be actual. The number of microscopic organisms is infinite. Atoms in the universe is infinite. How far the universe extends is infinite. Maybe stars are infinite. Hell, even the number of numbers is infinite.

 _Potential_ infinity. Now, that's a thing.

A hell of a thing.

—

I looked to my right, outside the window we were sitting next to. The sun wasn't blazing as brightly as it was earlier. It was now a red-orange hue, purely a ball of gas that looked ready to either explode in it's position right there in the sky, or to come crashing straight to the earth, destroying everything in it's path. The stars also seemed to come out, and I wondered if they knew that at any moment, the sun could explode right next to them. Would thy even notice? If one person were to explode right next to you, would you notice? Would there even be any sound if the one and only sun we knew were to be gone, completely obliterated? Would anyone stop to watch the flaming ball explode into an infinite number of stars, just to die down and turn into little black balls of crumbling rubble, no longer useful, completely discarded? No more warmth? No more light? Just overpassing cold and darkness that our eyes couldn't adjust to and that would rattle our bones to the very core? Where humans would blindly dance after one another without a trace of intelligence, a trace of _hope_ , in the world? I doubted it. That was how people were, after all. Or at least that's how they were in my opinion.

—

"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."

—Edgar Allan Poe

"There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line."

—Oscar Levant

"One person's craziness is another person's reality."

—Tim Burton

"A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything."

—Friedrich Nietzsche

"In a mad world, only the mad are sane."

—Akira Kurosawa

"When dealing with the insane, the best method is to pretend to be sane."

—Hermann Hesse

"I have felt the wind on the wing of madness."

—Charles Baudelaire

"This place has only three exits, sir: Madness, and Death."

—René Daumal

—

A six-word story, written on the face of broken dreams and empty promises:

"And then all hell broke loose."

—

If there was a God out there, he should do a better job.

(She's kidding herself though, because obviously there is a god out there.)

There is a God out there, oh yes there is, but he couldn't give two craps about the world.

There is a God out there, but not the one from the bible. The God we have now is not as good as the one Sunday school children read about. Not the God that fed _five thousand_ people with two fishes and five loafs of bread.

Oh no, not that God.

Our God is one who leaves us. He doesn't give much thought to those here suffering. Left us at the mercy of Satan's talons and the fiery furnaces of the burning pit of hell.

(Because we're all in the same game, just different levels. All the same hell, just different devils.)

One might say our God is selfish as hell.

(But who really would?)

So yes, there is a God out there.

(He just may not care.)

—

Insanity is not a real disease. It is a construct invented by medical men and their supporters in a self-serving manufacture of madness. 'Mental illness' is not a reality but, at best, a metaphor. In promoting such ideas, shrinks have either been involved in improper cognitive imperialism or have personified the psyche: reifying the fictive substance behind the substantive. Properly speaking, insanity is not a disease, but a behavior.

In sum, how do we differentiate between the two? The answer is: whoever _society_ says is insane, simply _is_.

—

A suicide note:

To everyone I left behind that ever loved me:

Please read beginning to end.

Obviously by the time you read this, I'll either be dead in the house, on my way to the hospital, in the morgue, or six feet under. And I'll definitely be dancing with the devil, I guess, since apparently suicide is the ultimate sin, since none of us can beg forgiveness in our graves, correct? Only God can give life, so who are we to take are own? That's like over-powering God, right? Perhaps God won't even try me, he might just send me to hell. Because let's be honest, my entire life was lived believing—no, _knowing_ —that God stopped loving me a long time ago. A very long, long time ago. If God were to love me as everyone in my life has ever told me, why would he allow me to live like this? It wasn't as if one day I _decided_ to ask God, "I think it would be fun to be depressed and suicidal. Can you make that happen?" As if I never tried. So quite obviously, everything I've ever heard about God my entire life is utter lies.

In this letter, here are my last thoughts / consoling / whatever else I felt as though I needed to say. Maybe we should start with why I did it, I guess. So why did I do it? The answer is simple: why live in so much pain? I sat and realized that if I didn't kill myself, I would live like this forever. Do you actually understand that this pain is unbearable? I've spent so many showers crying and sobbing until I was out of breath. Those nights where you heard me repeatedly blowing my nose and assuming it was congestion was actually the result of my crying almost every single night.

I hated who I was. I was ashamed of who I was. There was nothing I loved about myself. I was an annoying, selfish, excessively loud, greedy, bitter, angry little specimen.

I don't think sorry is really anything I can tell anyone in this letter. I know you all loved me, but what you never understood was that there was something always telling me you didn't, which was stupid, of course. But I've battled my demons for this long, and I finally let them go. I'm finally at peace. So yeah, I'm probably burning in the fiery furnaces of hell, but it's okay. Don't cry over me. Don't cry over me, especially when there's a girl probably dead before getting to give that newborn some advice, a boy in a straight-jacket laughing into a camera, and a girl who's waiting for the sun to explode.

Now to close this letter, to anyone that's ever known and loved me, please miss me, but let me go. Trust me, a year from now, I'll be just a distant memory. I'm really not something to be dwelled on for too much time. Move on with your lives that so clearly proved to have three times the worth of mine. Find your joy. And lastly, do what I wish I could've done myself fully. Love God, love yourself, and love others. I love all of you, and I wish you all nothing but joy and happiness so long as you shall live.

 **A/N: 1,651 words of what-the-hell-was-that. Yes it made sense to me. Yes I'm fully aware that it probably made no sense to any of you. Anyways, I'm still working on chapter 8 of Savior.**

 **Adios, muchachos.**


End file.
